


When in Doubt, Fall in Love

by AvaCelt



Category: Gintama
Genre: Fluff and Smut, M/M, Romantic Comedy, this premise is a mess but i swear it's good
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-02
Updated: 2016-01-14
Packaged: 2018-05-11 02:50:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 17,574
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5611063
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AvaCelt/pseuds/AvaCelt
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A thirty-two year old Yato walks into a bar. It's singles night. The Shinsengumi's only spy just got his first vacation in over a year. He also wants a drink. Ikumatsu wants to know why thirty-something year olds keep thinking her noodle shop is a alcohol bar when it specifically says “ramen” before the bar. Alas, she serves the drinks along with the food, and maybe, just maybe it's because of her that a Yato and a spy become the unlikeliest of couples.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. In Which There Are Choices to be Made and Memories to Be Recalled

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, this is Yamazaki/Abuto, it has SMUT, and it has FEELINGS, and also has Kamui being a bastard and Kondou being a spaz. Leave feedback! They feed my hollow soul! *3*

**In the distant future.**

_“Do you ever wonder why love is the way it is, Elizabeth?”_

_WHAT DO YOU MEAN, KATSURA-SAN._

_Katsura sighs, gazing tiredly out towards the river before turning his head back towards his friend. “Why does it hurt so much?”_

_BECAUSE PEOPLE HURT EACH OTHER._

_Katsura eyes the message board, then his friend, then the message board again. He chuckles softly. “I guess you're right.”_

_MAYBE YOU SHOULD CUT BACK ON THE NIGHT-TIME DRAMAS, KATSURA-SAN._

_“It's not because of the dramas, Elizabeth,” he sighs dejectedly. “Come. I'll take you to Ikumatsu-san's. Tonight, I'll tell you a tale about true love. A love that transcended blood and heritage. A love between two men who thought they could never **be** loved.”_

_Elizabeth blinks. HAVE YOU BEEN PONDERING ON YOUR PAST RELATIONSHIP WITH SAKATA-SAN AGAIN?_

_“No, Elizabeth. This... this is so much sadder than my past with Gintoki. Perhaps that's why I was chosen to bear witness to it. Come, my friend. I will show you one of the truths of loving too much.”_

_And together they walk to Ikumatsu's ramen bar._

_And that's where our story begins._

* * *

“It's not paid leave!”

“I know, Captain.”

“Ship leaves on the twelfth, and if you're not here, I'm gonna kill ya!”

“I know, Captain.”

“Don't lose your prosthetic! I took off three quarters of your last paycheck!”

“I know, Captain.”

“Good! Have fun!”

* * *

“I don't give a fuck where you go, just be back here by the twelfth.”

“Yes, Fukucho.”

“I mean it, Yamazaki. The 12th. 7 am, sharp.”

“Yes, Fukucho.”

“If I find you in a badminton court high on anpan and milk, I'm gonna kill you.”

“Yes, Fukucho.”

“Good, now get the fuck out.”

* * *

One chilly evening, Yamazaki Sagaru decides he's going to quit stalking Tama. It's already a few weeks into winter and this is his first state-sanctioned vacation over a year. He can either spend it inside the second-floor apartment in front of Otose's Snack House with his binoculars, or he could finally take the time to warm his bones with a few drinks and maybe get some traveling done. He's got two weeks off. The last time he was on vacation, it wasn't actually a vacation and the Shogun had ended up in a bear suit and for some odd reason, Katsura Kotarou was on standby. Alas, he got lucky this time. The vacation is his, truly his, and all because he's been the Shinsengumi's spy for a good ten years. Ten years! He can't believe he's been getting his ass beat and humiliated by Hijikata Toushirou for ten years, even though he's five years older than him! It sometimes makes him wonder why he didn't just opt for joining the Yakuza at some point. Ten years ago, he had the looks and the lack of direction in life to go along with it, but of course ther-

Yamazaki shudders, brushes the snowflakes off his shoulders and looks longingly towards the road into town. If he starts to dwell on his past right now, he's going to remember things a lot more awful than just his teenage and young adult years on the streets as the resident punk that used to sniff anpan for kicks. He's also going to have to come to terms with his plainness, which he really doesn't want to because he's on vacation starting ten minutes ago, and he's outside the Shinsengumi headquarters with his haori shielding him from the snow and his daypack containing some clothes, money, and badge. He blinks up at the sky dropping soft, white flakes atop Kabukichou and the likes. It's been a long, long time since he's been freed from his responsibilities, freed from Hijikata Toushirou's vicious beatings, freed from the daily hullabaloo of an existence that was planned to the T.

Sure, he's kept his mouth shut and his eyes on the ground, but he wonders. Sometimes he wonders how it would have played out if he'd continued to fight the countryside samurai instead of joining them, if he continued to use his powers of discretion to blackmail cheating spouses instead going undercover into Joui patriot-owned warehouses. He's thought about it a few times over the years, but never long enough to do something about it. There's too much to do, after all. Who has time to think about past lives?

Yamazaki gulps. Two weeks. The snowflakes are picking up speed, and maybe, just maybe Yamaza- Sagaru. Just maybe Sagaru can convince himself to forget the punk and the spy and just be an old man for a little bit. He smiles softly. Tama could have been his everything, but in the end, she saw what others refused to see. He's an old man. He's an old, little man who can pull off twenty even though he's thirty-two, committed enough felonies for twenty-plus years in B-level lockup, and hasn't had a girlfriend since he was sixteen. If anyone saw old pictures of him, they wouldn't believe it. Good, because Sagaru can't have people asking questions about the rusty ass punk who loitered the streets with no vision and no purpose because he was Edo's trash, the filth it left behind from a war that devastated all the islands of the Japanese empire. There can't be any questions because, ten years later, Yamazaki still doesn't have any answers. How can he explain going from a punk piece of shit to a meek little spy who also fronted as a punching bag for the Shinsengumi's vice captain? Sagaru doesn't have any answers because, deep down, he knows there _can't_ be any answers. It's all very illogical. There's no rhyme to this reason. It is what it is, and Sagaru deals with it because it could be worse. It could very much be worse.

The Shinsengumi headquarters close their lights while Kabukichou's nighttime activities come to life. There's a lot to choose from. Karaoke bars, hostess clubs, maybe a bus and a short walk to an inn in the mountains only a few hours away? There's a lot to choose from, and he has two weeks to enjoy it.

But first, a drink to celebrate, so he heads to the only ramen bar in town that also serves good vodka.

* * *

On the other side of town, Abuto watches as his captain skips away with his umbrella strapped to his back, his grabby hands reaching for Takasugi Shinsuke's hips. Abuto doesn't wait for them to smooch and instead turns on heels and walks away from his eighteen year old captain and his emotionally unavailable lover. It's a mess in the making and Abuto doesn't want to be around for the honeymoon period. He'd applied for the vacation as soon as Kamui had announced during karaoke night that he'd finally bedded the Kiheitai's commander. The little bastard even smooched the man in public and almost had his balls shot off by the blonde gunslinger. It was all very messy. Abuto was tired.

Abuto _is_ tired. Abuto has a feeling he would always be tired.

But that doesn't mean he can't disappear for a breather. He'd submitted all the necessary forms, sighed away his right to get paid for two weeks, and now all that's left is his savings account on Earth and whatever he can afford with it. Luckily it's enough for a room for the duration of his vacation and a few activities. He's not a rabble-rouser. He prefers writing poetry, a man moving inside of him when he's feeling up to it, and food in his stomach. He doesn't ask for much. If he did, he would have to be dead. He didn't want to be dead. He wants to be fed, fucked, and left alone to sleep. It's all very simple. He's a simple man, an old man.

He makes his way through the streets that will eventually become crowded as the night goes on. Thirty-two and babysitting an eighteen year old with homicidal tendencies and a penchant for brooders with one eye and a morbid sense of humor. Abuto isn't about that particular life where he's off chasing dick past his prime. If he was, he'd tell someone, but he's not. He's simply not. He has an obligation to his dying race, so he while he inwardly suffers, he outwardly makes sure the little asshole lives and so does the rest of his tribe. He can't bring himself to kill or watch any of his people die. One could say that he probably has a heart. Maybe. Abuto isn't sure. He writes poetry, so it could all be bullshit, but maybe, just maybe, there's a soul in there somewhere.

Either way, he's a simple man with simple tastes. He has duties to fulfill, a prosthetic arm to replace if it gets torn or broken, an asshole captain to watch over, and a tribe to protect. But for two weeks, he also wants to sit and recite original poetry, note it down in his dusty, leather travel book, and visit a bar that serves simple but delicious food because he's a simple man with simple tastes. He's also in the mood for a man, but Earth-men have small dicks and he isn't entirely sure anyone will measure up in terms of technique even if they don't have the right size. Abuto could take a spaceship to Rakuyou, but then that itself would take up to three days, and that's three days of losing poetry recitation and much needed sleep. So no Rakuyou, no Yato men that would warm him bed and bite his ear while he's fucked to a climax, preferably from behind because Yato were more beast than men, and they fought, fucked, and died like animals. He feels a tingle up his spine and then an aura of dread. He sighs. He'd have to settle for a human and, with his luck, it would become disgusted when he took off his prosthetic, and then Abuto would feel bad when he broke the thing's neck for being disrespectful and shirking on its promise to provide him with an orgasm and inspiration for his next poem. It could very well become messy, and Abuto hates messy.

He's made it halfway into the district by the time his feet plant him in front of a small ramen bar. Maybe they serve Yato-grade sake, who knows. He's not looking to get drunk, but he does enjoy the burn of distilled spirits down his throat. He peeks through one of the windows and sees a lone blonde woman serving a full bar in the front while a Renho and a waiter flit from table to table on the floor and near the entrance. The customers are all men, mostly Abuto's age, some a bit older. They're single. They have to be in order for them to be so quiet and yet so content and unhandsy in a bar run by a woman. Abuto suspects at least half the men are in love with the woman tending the bar, while the other half are either looking for love with other one another or are hiding from creditors. It could go either way, but if Abuto plays his cards right and recites the right words, he may just score a demure lay for the evening.

He steps into the eatery as quietly as possible and plops down on the recently vacated seat at the bar. First he'll eat and drink, and then he'll mingle and score.

“Uh, Hasegawa-san was sitting there, mister,” says a timid voice to his left. Abuto eyes the young man with his hair in a ponytail. He looks twenty-one, and definitely not at all belonging in a ramen bar full of singles over thirty.

“Don't you have a wife to go home to?” Abuto deadpans. The pretty man doesn't look much of the scholarly type, but he's definitely got some kind of balls. Abuto doesn't usually bother to address men a half a foot taller than him, but the ponytailed patron did just call him out for snagging another's seat.

“Excuse me?” He squeaks.

“Wife. You got kids too? If so, then scram. It's singles night for us ossan.” And Abuto is definitely ready to mingle. His eyes begin to scan the room but the man next to him to clears his throat, interrupting his watchful gaze.

“I'm not married, asshole,” it snipes.

It... snipes. The human snipes at him. Suddenly, Abuto is a little bit interested. “Say what now?”

The human huffs. “I'm not married, and that seat belongs to my friend. And how the hell do I have kids? Do you see wrinkles around my eyes? I only have dark circles because my boss is an asshole and it's my first vacation in over a year! If I want to enjoy it with my fellow thirty-two year old singles, then I will! Now get out of his seat!”

“Easy, Yamazaki-san!” An older man with tanned skin and a hesitant smile scratches the back of his head and tries to calm down his ponytailed partner. “I'm just on my way out. Gotta get inside Gin-san's closet before he and the kids get home. If I sleep outside tonight, I'll be a frozen corpse in the morning!” The man turns to Abuto next and smiles sheepishly. “Enjoy your food, Traveler-san, and don't mind my friend. He's just a little tired.”

And with that, the tanned man puts on a pair of dark glasses, waves sheepishly, and walks out of the ramen bar. Abuto turns his gaze back at the man with a ponytail who huffs and turns to his ramen and- Abuto sniffs the air- Russian vodka.

“Say, you're actually thirty-two?”

The man rolls his eyes as he finishes slurping a string of noodles. “Yes,” he says icily.

Abuto cocks his head to the side. “I didn't know human men were into anti-aging creams.”

The ponytailed man gags while taking a swig of his vodka. “I don't use anti-aging creams!”

“Then how the hell do you explain flawless skin and a pretty face?” Abuto huffs.

The man with the ponytail visibly reddens and Abuto catches himself slipping. He's flirting and he hasn't even had a meal yet. This is either going to end with him pushed up against a dirty wall and getting fucked from behind, or he and this ponytailed idiot are going to end up duking it out in the ramen bar.

“I don't know,” it mumbles.

Abuto blinks. “Huh.”

“I don't know!” It snaps and goes back to shoveling noodles and slices of kamaboko into its mouth. For such a small man and such a pretty face, it, he, whatever this person is, eats like an animal.

Abuto grins, but to the naked eye, it's merely a twitch in his usually deadpan look. “My name's Abuto and I'm thirty-two too.”

The human downs the rest of his vodka and politely orders another round. “Yamazaki Sagaru,” he says tiredly.

“Yamazaki Sagaru,” Abuto repeats softly. “Nice to meet you, Yamazaki-san.”

Yamazaki chuckles tiredly. Squabbling patrons turning into long-lost friends in the span of minutes isn't unheard of at taverns. “Nice to meet you too, Abuto-san.”

“Say, what should I order here?” Abuto knows what he wants, but he also wants to know what Yamazaki wants.

The ponytailed man shrugs. “Pork ramen's good.”

And so the pork ramen and Russian vodka is what he orders. He orders with his usual deadpan look while Yamazaki finishes his bowl. Soon he orders another, and by the time Abuto gets his food, they're having an easy conversation, two old men with no lives, simply spending some time together because they're plain men with plain lives. Abuto deadpans his way through the conversations. Several times, Yamazaki lets out shaky chuckles that turn into full blown laughter. It's all very simple, not so messy at all.

And Abuto knows. Deep down in his Yato heart, Abuto knows he's fucked up because you didn't just walk into a bar and fall in love with a pretty man who just happened to be the same age as you.

* * *

 

“No way,” Katsura whispers. Elizabeth is too busy shuffling orders back and forth to notice, but Katsura sees. He sees and he gasps dramatically.

“What's wrong?” Ikumatsu asks, draping her dishcloth over her shoulder.

“They've fallen in love,” he whispers shakily, pointing at the two men kicking back drinks at the end of the bar.

Ikumatsu chuckles. “That's wonderful.”

Katsura shakes his head vehemently. “Not when it's between a Yato and a police officer.”

Ikumatsu pales. “A mercenary and a cop?”

Katsura nods morosely. “A killer and a hunter.”

* * *

 


	2. In Which Sex is Had and Yato Decide to Angst

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's his first day out of a two week vacation, and he spent the night with a plain man who had plain needs. The stranger wanted his body and Sagaru wanted his warmth. They'd provided what they could, and now Sagaru can move on... Right?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments are love! *3*

Sagaru wakes up in doses, at first hesitant of the light, then slowly more and more receptive to its call for him to get up. For all intents and purposes, he'd like to do the opposite and sleep some more. It's officially day one of his vacation and he spent the previous night eating, drinking, and eventually sleeping with a man he'd only known for a few hours. He's not the least bit surprised things turned out the way they did because the Yamazaki of the old, the one that used to sniff anpan and also carried a verbal tic that paid homage to said anpan, that Yamazaki ended up having sex with anyone who returned his advances and agreed to go home with him for the night. Given, home used to be filthy room at the end of a string of tenements, but it's the principle of the matter that counts. The Yamazaki of the old fucked, fought, and shat his way through life, and those days went pretty much the same way last night did. He ate, drank, laughed a lot, and then ended up fucking a Yato with one arm and really soft hair. It is a surprise he's a punching bag for the local police force?

Sagaru sighs wistfully. His descents into madness are more common than he lets on. He's lucky the vice captain was there the last time he went into a rage and almost reverted back to his old self. Other times, he'd simply snap and the people around him would either have to wait it out until he went back to normal or run away until his head was right again. Sagaru supposes last night also happens to be a remnant of one of those manic phases. He did, after all, shove three fingers inside another man's butt before roughly pounding him into a futon. Over the course of three hours and six orgasms, he'd taken the man on his knees four times, then once on his back, and finally one more time against the futon, but this time Sagaru applied his thrusts almost reverently and let his hands appreciate the first person he'd fucked in almost a year.

So yeah. It's a messy situation, but Sagaru's always been a messy man. Why his addictions range from anpan to badminton is beyond him. Sometimes he thinks he might be half Amanto and that's why he's so inconsistent in his character development, but then he thinks that maybe it's just him. He's the reason why everything's always so messy, and now he's sleeping next to a man he's pulled into his mess of a life.

He turns to face the Yato who'd kissed him the night before. Sagaru could have resisted, said his goodbyes, and walked away for good. Instead, he kissed him back, let his hands grope chest, thighs, and a firm ass because it had been way too long since his last night with a living, breathing person keening into his touch. Be it the Yamazaki of over ten years ago, or Yamazaki the spy, or even Sagaru the old man- he hasn't lost his charm. He'd laughed, said something unnecessarily saccharine, and led the man into a nearby inn, booked a room for the night, and fucked the Yato into a flimsy futon way too many times for it to be appropriate.

Yamazaki Sagaru's entire existence is the epitome of inappropriate. He blinks, sighs, drinks in the image in front of him. The Yato, Abuto, is naked just like him. They're both underneath the futon's comforter, but Sagaru's portion is swathed around his hips, whereas Abuto's stump and left leg are sticking out of the futon and onto the floor. They're sharing a pillow. Sagaru is too close, way too close, and dammit, why is he treating this like a mistake? It's not Tama. There are no strings here, no Yorozuya that could break down his door and then his bones for stealing their android's innocence. This isn't a case where he has to munch on anpan and drink milk and willingly drive himself into a psychotic episode. No. It's his first day out of a two week vacation, and he spent the night with a plain man who had plain needs. The stranger wanted his body and Sagaru wanted his warmth. They'd provided what they could, and now Sagaru can move on.

At least, Sagaru thinks he can move on. The stranger yawns, lets his eyes slowly get used to the sunlight before turning his head to Sagaru.

“Morning,” Abuto drawls.

“Good morning,” he squawks abruptly.

Abuto blinks. “Last night was nice.”

Sagaru takes a deep breath, lets his anxiety and insecurities drift away with his breath when he exhales. “It was.” It definitely was. He'd managed six orgasms in one night to make up for almost a year's worth of a dry spell.

“You've got good technique,” he admits. “My kind are generally well-endowed, but sometimes we lack experience and craft.”

Sagaru blinks, his anxiety beginning to build up again. “I-I didn't use lube.”

Abuto's deadpan look doesn't waver. “I wasn't expecting you to, considering I didn't bring any and you didn't buy some from the convenience store we passed by. Good work on the fingers though. You shot for three. My last lover went with one.”

Deep breaths. Long, deep breaths. “I didn't hurt you, did I?”

Abuto looks bored- really, really bored. “No.”

Sagaru lets out a tiny squeak. “Thank god.”

Really, as far as awkward morning-after conversations go, this definitely isn't the most nerve-wracking one Sagaru's had to deal with, but it's definitely strange. He'd slept with a Yato clan member, one of the resident mercenary groups in the galaxy, and he managed to come out of it alive. Said Yato clan member also just complimented him on his technique, even though the last time he slept with a man was six years ago. It's all so incredibly inconsistent and messy that Sagaru wonders if he's living in fanfiction instead of real life.

“Care for round seven?” Abuto asks after a few minutes of staring at the ceiling. Sagaru thinks of his options. He could say no and go about his day, or he could say yes, get laid one more time, and _then_ go about his day.

“Sure.”

Abuto's lips twitch into something reminiscent of a smile and Sagaru lets his body assume its natural charm when it comes to coaxing others for sex. Abuto spreads his legs, lets Sagaru settle in between his powerful thighs, raises his hips, and lets Sagaru's index finger make slow and earnest prods against his clenching nerves. One finger becomes two becomes three and within a few minutes, Sagaru's slipped in again, disassociated from his past self, from the spy, the punching bag. He's Sagaru now, the thirty-two year older ossan on vacation from his government job who's gotten lucky seven times in less than twenty-four hours.

Abuto's right hand grips his right buttock, urges him to thrust deeper, faster. He complies, kissing the man beneath him, enjoying the moment, relishing in the state of pure bliss that only another person's touch can bring. Abuto kisses him back, nips at his lips, moans into his mouth, this plain man, this bored-looking man, this man that's from another planet, most likely a mercenary, a traveler also on vacation from his duties. Sagaru shudders, comes, easily slips out before slumping forward onto the larger man's chest.

“You sure you're not hiding from your wife and kids?” Abuto asks after a while, threading his meaty fingers through Sagaru's dark hair.

“Nope. No wife, no kids.” His ear's pressed against Abuto's heartbeat. The sound is soothing.

“Aint that something,” Abuto whistles. “What's your secret? I look fifty because I have to babysit a grown man. What's your excuse for looking like an immortal serial killer?”

Sagaru laughs easily because Abuto is a simple man with a simple sense of humor. “I play badminton and worship a stake-out god.”

“You're religious?” Abuto asks with mild surprise.

“Only when I have to be,” Sagaru admits.

Abuto doesn't dwell on it. “I guess we all have our vices.”

Sagaru lets his eyes drift shut and his body melt into the Yato man's embrace. “I guess we do.”

When Sagaru falls asleep, Abuto doesn't push him off.

* * *

For Abuto, the sex is fantastic. Of course, because it's fantastic, he and the human part ways after round seven. He books a room in an inn twelve miles away, showers, leaves some of his clothes to the inn's launderers, and then takes off for the day with his umbrella open and shielding him from the warm sun. Because of his biology, the sting a man's touch would normally leave on his spine is no where to be found. He doesn't have any love bites, no imprints of fingers clawing into his hips, not even a scratch. He's a Yato man, too strong to be left with a love bite from a human, too powerful to feel a sting in his lower back after a night of good fucking. If a Yato had bedded him, he wouldn't have been able to walk and would have likely spent the day writing poetry and ordering food through the room's phone. But alas, he took a human lover, and humans couldn't leave a single mark on his skin, not unless they intended to kill him, and Yamazaki, the pretty little man, he'd treated him very much like a lover and not at all like prey.

It's a bit daunting. Yato men didn't exactly have class. You were either a Housen, who stole women, or a Kamui, who took a man and let everyone know, from one end of the galaxy to the other. Sometimes, Yato men could turn out to be like Umibozu, but even he had ditched his wife and kids for a life of solitude. So yes. He, Abuto of the Yato clan, doesn't expect much from the men of his race, but he does expect a good fuck. They could usually provide a good fuck. Humans however- Abuto doesn't quite do humans. He's done Renho before, and even a random Shinra or two, but he's always done humans sparingly, only if he'd known he couldn't make it to Rakuyou on time.

Abuto doesn't do any of his crew members because they're his family and that's a cardinal sin. But interplanetary delegates, pirates from other crews, even civilians of planets they'd pit stopped at- they'd all been open for business. Abuto can do business. Kamui is pretty much useless other than being a great fighter and a capable strategist, so Abuto handles the paperwork and the deadlines. He's good like that. He's plain like that.

And humans. Oh, boy. Humans don't like to be plain. They like to be eccentric. They work on Abuto's nerves, most of the time. He knows his captain's little sister lives with an eccentric one she refers to as her “Earth dad,” and Abuto wants to 500% stay away from that bullshit because he can't afford to lose his remaining flesh arm.

But Yamazaki?

Holy shitballs. Abuto abruptly stops in the middle of a bridge and walks over to the edge, gazing out towards the dirty water. Yamazaki is the plainest, most serially lowkey person he's ever met on this shithole of a planet. It's almost scary how utterly unassuming the man turned out to be. Abuto remembers having walked into that bar without ever noticing the man, but the second he called him out for taking the tanned man's seat, Abuto was shocked. Yamazaki had caught him off guard.

One just doesn't catch a _Yato_ off guard. Yato died when caught off guard. Yamazaki could have slit his throat and he wouldn't have noticed until he was choking on his own blood. How the hell had this ponytailed idiot with the abnormally handsome face manage to catch him slipping?

“I must be getting too old,” he gulps fearfully. “Holy shit, I'm getting really old.”

“Well, you certainly look old,” huffs an old lady standing a few feet down the ledge.

Abuto lazily turns his head towards the woman calmly smoking a cigarette. He glances at his watch. It's not even noon yet, and the old woman is well on her way to finishing her cigarette. Abuto inwardly shrugs. He's had sex seven times in the last twenty-four hours. The old lady could smoke if she wanted to.

“Otose-san! Let's go!” Abuto spies an Amanto in a casual, green kimono dragging cases of alcohol while screeching at the old lady puffing on her cigarette.

“Coming, idiot!” The old lady barks back. The Amanto grumbles and starts walking away and by then, the old lady flicks the cigarette butt into the river before facing Abuto. “You look far too tired for a man who can't be more than thirty.”

Abuto shrugs. “Thirty-two. I have to raise a grown man for a living.”

Otose raises an eyebrow. “My son is twenty-six and still doesn't pay rent,” she admits.

“Eighteen, has a boyfriend now.”

“He's also raising two kids he didn't father.”

“I've fallen in love with a human being and I'm pretty sure if my boss finds out, he's gonna kill him.” Abuto blinks. He shouldn't have said that out loud because now the old lady's far too interested in him for this to be a healthy exchange. Goddammit, Yamazaki. His technique clearly did a number on Abuto's brain, because he's spilling his guts to an old woman who's now inclined to coax even more information out of him.

The old lady smirks. “Your son happen to be your boss?”

Life can't get any worse. “Unfortunately,” he deadpans.

She nods knowingly. “It happens to the best of us.” She slides out a pocketbook from the folds of her kimono and slips out a card. “Come by my bar sometime,” she says, handing him the thick paper. “I'm sure my son can find a way to protect your lover from your son.”

“I'm not sure your son could take on mine,” he sighs, taking the card from her hand and slipping it into his pocket. “My kid's not exactly... right in the head.”

“If he's not right in the head, how'd he find a boyfriend?” She snorts.

Abuto stares blankly into her eyes. “He's not right in the head either.”

A frown creases around the old lady's lips as she procures another cigarette from the folds of her kimono. “Love finds a way, I guess.”

Suddenly, Abuto feels really sad. He only has two weeks to enjoy his time away from two homicidal maniacs that had somehow fallen in love, and he's already spent the first night with a human and already a portion of the morning after _angsting_ over the same human. This is so incredibly messy that it could bring tears to his eyes if his face wasn't already fixated on being deadpan all the time. Maybe it's a Yato defense mechanism- be as ugly and unassuming as possible so no one notices and no one cares, and when dead, descend to hell and be lonely some more.

Goddammit Yamazaki. How the hell did an immortal human manage to make him slip into the love pit? His face should be a crime. So should his hair and the fact that he's thirty-two and looks like he's twenty-one. And he doesn't even have a wife or kids! Abuto has a child. Sure, he never fathered Kamui and prays it never turns out that they're related, but his crew, his asshole of a boss, and now his boss's boyfriend- they're his family. Sorta. His extended family. Yeah, that sounds about right. They're his extended family and he, unfortunately, has an obligation to them that doesn't involve Yamazaki, and it sucks, hurts his soul, makes him wish he'd gone to the red light district instead of opting for a civilian ramen bar.

“Come by!” The old lady calls out, and Abuto didn't even notice when she started walking away. She waves at him without turning around. “And bring your lover!”

His lover. He scoffs, turns on his heel, and walks away. He keeps walking until he gets to a park and finds a quiet place to sit. He climbs a tree, sets his umbrella against the branches so his skin is safe from the sun's poisonous rays, and settles against the trunk to write his poems. He slips the old travel book out of his jacket pocket and fingers the leather binding.

“A song for love,” he surmises. “All I have is a song for love.”

* * *

That evening, Sagaru ends up at the ramen bar after a day of hard badminton and dango with a few of his friends from outside of the police force. Most of them are also bandminton fanatics, but a few, the ones he never speaks about at the Shinsengumi headquarters, they're from his old days. They still know him as the anpan freak, the asshole punk who used to have a verbal tic. But that was ten years ago. Some of them still loiter the streets, but they're harmless, just like the ants that crawl around the wooden benches in Kabukichou's parks. The dango had been good, and they'd waved their goodbyes almost a quarter of an hour ago.

Sagaru should be heading to an inn so he can catch up on some television. He has ninja dramas to catch up on, his friend Zenzou to call and discuss JUMP's latest releases, and join the Oniwaban for drinks under a kotatsu at the local teahouse. He has things to do, people to speak to, a life to live. Instead, he's outside of a ramen bar he goes into once or twice a month for the good food and great vodka, and he knows he's about to cave into his carnal desires again.

“Table for one?” The tall waiter with the exceptionally familiar face waits patiently for his answer.

“I'll take a seat at the bar, if it's empty,” he replies easily. The waiter nods and leads him inside. He sits down next to the same blonde man.

“Fancy meeting you here,” Abuto drawls, his eyes fixated on a notebook.

“Good evening, Abuto-san.”

“I tried the red wine. Not as good as the vodka, but it goes down better with the beef ramen.”

Sagaru eyes the empty bowl and the glasses set next to the little notebook. Abuto's strokes are soft and measured, the symbols incomprehensible to Sagaru. “Is that in your native language?”

“Yes,” he says as he continues to write.

“Your hand-writing is very beautiful.” Sagaru catches the pen still for a second before it resumes scratching words, phrases, maybe even numbers into the little notebook.

“You should join me tonight,” Abuto suggests after the duck-waiter takes Sagaru's order.

“I'd like that.” His response is amiable, quite honest for a man who's much more than what people initially see. “I have some dramas I need to catch up on. Are you familiar with Edo's night-time dramas?”

Abuto shakes his head, setting down his pen and folding the notebook shut. Soon after, Sagaru's food and drinks arrive and Abuto orders a round of sake. “Would you like to spend some time together tomorrow?”

Sagaru sits on it. “Depends on how long you're planning on being on Earth. You said you were in a traveling company, right?”

“Two weeks,” Abuto deadpans.

Maybe it's fate, or maybe it's Ikumatsu's amazing ramen. “Two weeks sound good.”

It goes a little like this- they eat, drink, eat some more, drink a little bit more before Abuto begins to smile in earnest, his bored expression melting away to reveal a smug smirk and watchful eyes. They end up at a little inn, an inn Sagaru had intended to get a room in after his dango snack with his friends, and it's no surprise that when they start to kiss and touch, Sagaru thinks that maybe, just maybe this is all a joke, but it's a nice joke.

He can't be who he was ten years ago, and for tonight, for two weeks, he doesn't want to be the meek little spy, or the weird little man who could pull off a college student. No. He wants to be him, an old man with old tastes, a need to hold and be held, a man who's as normal as all the other men around him.

When they finish, Abuto rests his head on Sagaru's stomach. He takes a good, long look at the stump that used to be Abuto's arm. He knows Abuto's boss took it when Abuto refused to follow an order. Deep down, Sagaru feels a surge of rage, but he knows he's too weak, too meek to be able to take on a Yato to avenge a plain man's plain arm.

He turns on the television. Abuto rustles, settles against his side and begins to write in his notebook again while Sagaru changes the channel to his dramas and begins to watch in earnest. He's a plain man with plain needs, and despite the fact that Abuto is a Yato, Sagaru knows he's just as much of a plain man as him. Sagaru doesn't intend to change that, or Abuto. If he wouldn't avenge his arm, then Sagaru wouldn't either. This isn't a love story. This is reality, and sometimes in reality, the boss took an arm as punishment or used the resident spy as a punching bag to assert dominance. For men like Sagaru and Abuto, their place was beneath the dirt, beneath feet and shit, but always on survival mode.

“This one's about a ninja who falls in love with the town's loveliest courtesan,” Sagaru tells the other man.

“I tried being a courtesan once for a job, but it didn't work out too well. The brothel owner said I was too ugly.”

Sagaru threads his fingers through Abuto's hair. “That's OK. I once tried to marry a robot and her family ended up rejecting me because I was a scrub.”

“But you have a job.”

“Men like me are always scrubs,” he admits.

Abuto leans in closer. Sagaru finds the notebook closed and off to the side. Abuto's nestled underneath the comforter, their legs entwined. “I think you'd be a good husband.”

Sagaru smiles. It's nice to be complimented this late at night. “Thank you.”

Somewhere after the third episode, they drift off. No one notices the light rustle in the trees outside, and especially not the silky black hair that sways gently with the cold wind.

* * *

“It's true,” the mercenary states, its body ramrod straight and body decked head-to-toe in black.

“I-I don't believe it,” Kondou whispers.

“It is. They had sex and then laid down to watch a drama. The ugly one wrote in his book for a little while before watching the drama as well. They fell asleep after the courtesan unmasked the ninja for the first time.”

“I'm not actually surprised, but still a little disappointed. Yamazaki's always been average with women, but his personal tastes are just so uncanny. A Yato with a mullet?” Okita shakes his head disapprovingly.

“This is a joke and both of you need to get your heads checked.” Hijikata takes a long drag of his cigarette. “Oi, ninja-san. Tell these idiots it ain't true.”

“I just told you it's true, Shinsengumi.” The ninja clips back. “Now, I'd like my payment.”

“Yamazaki has... a boyfriend,” Kondou whispers in a daze. “He has a lover... before me.”

“It's OK, Kondou-san,” Okita pats the older man comfortingly.

“I still think you're lying,” Hijikata snipes, handing over a bundle of cash.

The ninja twitches, but only for a second. “If you don't believe me, why don't you take their address?”

“ _Their_ address?” Okita's smile is about as dangerous as the blade holstered at his hip.

The ninja nods. “They've decided to room together for the duration of their vacation. Yamazaki intends to sign his name next to the Yato's in the inn's logbook come morning.”

“Oh my god,” Kondou gasps.

“338, Parlor Road, Kabukichou, Edo. The Muave Inn. Room 145, traditional Japanese room, their windows and back door face a small garden and a pond.”

Hijikata shakes his head. “I don't believe it.”

Okita chuckles. “I do. I can't wait to say hello. Right, Kondou-san?”

But by then, Kondou's already passed out.

* * *

“Shinsukeeeee~” **  
**

“Shinsukeeeee~”

There's a grunt following a shove. “What?”

Kamui pouts, nuzzling his cheek against Shinsuke's. “I miss torturing Abuto. Let's go pay him a visit tomorrow morning!”

“Whatever,” is Shinsuke's only response.

Kamui does an internal squee and holds his lover close. Soon enough, Shinsuke drifts off to sleep while Kamui continues to stroke his belly and lay soft kisses down his face and neck. He'll be honest- he doesn't want to reveal his lover to his sister and her Earth father without Abuto by his side. The whole mess is supposed to set off a glorious battle in which Kamui intends to come out the victor so Shinsuke can commend his victory and then hopefully agree to be his forever and ever. It wouldn't be fun if Abuto didn't join the festivities. The old man is, after all, Kamui's only link to his past since he sliced off his own father's arm.

“Housen's dead, but there's still you, Abuto,” Kamui whispers as he places yet another soft peck against Shinsuke's warm cheek. “After all,” a maniacal grin appears on his lips, revealing his brilliant blue eyes, “who's gonna walk me down the aisle if you don't?”

He inwardly cackles and holds his lover close. Tomorrow should be fun!

* * *


	3. In Which Realities are Established and Dreams are Crushed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's just a fling, a fling that's supposed to last for two weeks before they go back to their lives and forget all about it. But, if it's a fling, why does he want to fight?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this fic turned out to be a lot more serious than I originally intended lol. It's still a romantic comedy, but now there's actual conflict! Beware, you're in for angst! As per usual, if you're enjoying yourself, be sure to leave a review! I'm just off a year's hiatus from fic writing. Comments and feedback soothe my soul. *3*

When Sagaru wakes up, there's a sword at his throat and Abuto's fast asleep. The larger man's cheek is smushed against his chest, drool pooling on his skin as the blonde softly snores. Sagaru gulps, squints at the person holding the sword. Face obscured by red cloth and decked in light gray clothes, all Sagaru can hone in on is the long, black hair that hangs below the assailant's hips.

“Wake up your lover,” commands the genderless creature.

“Abuto,” he barks thickly. Abuto groans, blinks, looks at the creature holding the sword to Sagaru's throat.

“Move, and I'll slice his throat,” the being warns softly.

Abuto blinks again, takes a deep breath and tightens his flesh arm around Sagaru's waist. “Got it.”

“I have news that can save your lives,” it says.

“Kinda hard to believe with a sword brandished in broad daylight,” Abuto points out.

It's only day two, and Sagaru has to deal with this. “What is it that you want?”

“For your love to succeed,” the creature states.

“You're not doing a very good job,” Sagaru snaps.

The genderless creature blinks, cocks its head to the side, but keeps the sword pressed against Sagaru's neck. “Right now, the Shinsengumi's commander, vice captain, and captain of the first division are all in a police car on their way to this location,” the creature recites, as if the details are penned on a piece of paper that's visible only to it. “They're taking the highway, which means in twenty minutes, they're going to pull up outside the inn and demand to see you, Yamazaki Sagaru. They will ask you questions, demand why you are with a mercenary, and then reinstate you to your position, thus effectively cutting your vacation short. You will be forced to arrest the man you are laying with on the basis of suspicion of grand larceny, but he will be released shortly after while you are forced to answer questions about your private life to your commanders. They are doing this for their own amusement. I repeat, they are doing this for their own pleasure, just like one would expect from the dogs of the Bakufu. Should you remain here, you will be humiliated beyond reason and you will not receive another such vacation until ten more years have passed.”

“You're lying,” Abuto deadpans.

“It can't be.” Sagaru recalls having told his bunk mates that he'd be gone for the whole vacation. He hasn't told any of his badminton buddies or any of his friends from his childhood about Abuto. He simply didn't have the time, and more than that, this is only his second morning with the man. This isn't love; it's a fling.

“And you, Yato,” it says icily. “Your captain intends to take you back to the ship today. Kamui and his lover are already on their way from the harbor. They will arrive in twenty minutes to cut your vacation short as well.” Suddenly, the being's eyes turn to slits, rage prickling behind the dark brown orbs as they bear into Abuto. “You know what he is capable of. He may have taken your arm out of pettiness, but do not doubt that he won't take your lover's head out of sheer amusement. If you intend to play this game and remain here when he arrives, then so be it. You cannot blame anyone but yourself for what's to come.”

With that, the genderless creature is gone, the blade gone as well, but a lock of Sagaru's hair is cut and thrown across the room as a testament to the creature's strength and prowess. Abuto is breathing hard, fear traced around his eyes, his flesh arm reaching for his prosthetic as he scrambles off Sagaru.

“You need to move, right now,” he snaps, and Sagaru can feel the fear radiate off the man. “If Kamui finds you, he'll kill you. He'll be able to smell another person on me and then he'll try to pinpoint who it belongs to. If he finds you, he'll kill you to mess with me.” Abuto slips on the prosthetic, locks it into place, flexes the bionic fingers. “He's in his honeymoon period right now. If he finds you, he'll kill you to impress his lover.”

Sagaru pales, thinks about how bloody his death would be if he faced off against a Yato. But then he remembers his superiors, the men that have had him in line and under their control for ten years now. Suddenly, he's more afraid of them than he is of the Yato clan member that supposedly wants his head.

“You can't be here when the Shinsengumi arrive.” Sagaru thinks of someone, anyone that will harbor them once his superiors arrive. “I... I didn't want you in this mess.”

Abuto laughs scathingly. “Your puny bosses wouldn't survive a minute against Kamui. I'm not worried about them, but for your sake, though, I'll hold off Kamui and hopefully they have the brains to run.”

But this is Sagaru's mess, regardless of what Abuto thinks. He's the one who said yes to another fuck last night, the one who agreed to spend his vacation with a Yato, the one who promised he'd live plainly for at least a week. Sagaru sighs, reaches for his clothes and slowly begins to put them on. “Come with me. Let them deal with each other.”

Abuto stills but doesn't turn around. “You don't want me anywhere near you right now, Yamazaki-san.”

It's just a fling, a fling that's supposed to last for two weeks before they go back to their lives and forget all about it. But, if it's a fling, why does he want to fight? “I'm more of a roach than I am a scrub, Abuto-san,” he admits tiredly. He fastens his haori and throws his bag over his shoulder. He slips the sharpened tanto underneath the folds of his yukata before moving to grab Abuto's flesh hand. “I'm not gonna die today, and you're not about to be kidnapped by your own asshole boss. My asshole bosses can handle themselves. They're roaches too. But you...” Sagaru gulps. It's supposed to be a fling, a fleeting moment in an existence filled with regret and despair. “You're a wonderful person, Abuto-san, and I'd like to spend more time with you. Please, for whatever this is, for its sake, come with me.”

When Abuto turns around, Sagaru realizes just how tired the man really is. The wrinkles creasing his eyes are ancient, as if sleep and tranquility are unknown to him. He doesn't have an arm. For god's sake, the man doesn't have an arm because a psychotic eighteen year lopped it off because Abuto had attempted to dissolve a dispute. Sure, Abuto could have been lying to him, but Sagaru trusts him. He trusts this plain man who doesn't seem to have anything going in his life, a man that's slept beside him for two nights and not bothered him once, a man that let him watch television after sex and then fell asleep against his chest because he respected Sagaru enough to have everything even if he had nothing.

They're plain men. Abuto, he's a plain man, a tired man, and now there's a price on Sagaru's head for existing, and he can escape it all by leaving Abuto behind and continuing his vacation elsewhere. But he wants to fight. Why does he want to fight?

“No,” Abuto deadpans.

“I'm not taking no for an answer, Abuto-san.” Sagaru smiles, and it's the smile he reserves for his friends, for days when he can eat and drink with the people he cares about without having to feel the despair of mediocrity hold him down. “I have a friend. He's a good man with a good heart. He'll keep you safe.”

“I'm not afraid of anything, Yamazaki-san.”

“You're afraid of everything, Abuto-san, but I don't blame you. This life is something to be feared.”

Abuto looks down at Sagaru's hand and just for a second, his deadpan expression falters. “He'll kill us both. Kamui. He's insane.”

Sagaru chuckles, threading his fingers through Abuto's. “And the Shinsengumi are just as insane.”

Abuto's lips curl into a smug smile, and a spark goes up Sagaru's spine. He'd fuck him again, hard and fast, pull at his blonde hair and bite his lower lip if they didn't have ten minutes left to spare.

Abuto sighs, uses his bionic arm to sling his bag over his shoulder and then pick up his umbrella. “Where to?”

Sagaru keeps smiling. “How fast is your mile?”

* * *

“Kondou-san, what's Takasugi Shinsuke doing?”

“I believe he's being ravished by a Yato his height, Toshi. Also, the fact that they're kissing under an umbrella makes the scene very romantic.”

“They're gone, Kondou-san,” Okita informs, slipping out of the inn with the logbook in his hand. “They weren't in their room when the owner went inside. Their stuff's gone too, and the Yato left his laundry behind, so I'm guessing they were in a rush. They had to have been informed by a third party about our arrival.”

“About all of us. The Yato would have stayed if he hadn't known, being shady Amanto and all.” Hijikata finishes off the last of his cigarette before brandishing his sword. “We can make it a productive day by taking in Takasugi.”

“And die in the process?” Okita scoffs. “The cigarettes have rotted your brain, Hijikata-san. The commander of the Kiheitai is also on vacation. Don't you see the way he's sucking face with an Amanto? He's not here to start any problems, so we should do the same and stick with the original plan. Right, Kondou-san?”

Kondou nods. “We don't have backup and technically we have no reason to be here.”

Hijikata growls. “We can just say we were out strolling when he just happened upon a wanted man.”

“Too obvious. We did sixty down a residential,” Okita drawls. “I say we retreat, Kondou-san, let's go back and figure out where Yamazaki went and go from there.”

“I agree, Sougo. We're not equipped for a brawl right now, and they're probably here to pick up their clan member.” Kondou gets inside the car and gets behind the wheel. “Get inside. We're going back to headquarters.”

“I swear, I'm gonna kill him when we find him,” Hijikata grumbles, sheathing his sword.

“You're just mad he asked a Yato out on a date instead of you,” Okita admonishes. Hijikata growls and grabs for his throat, but Okita sidesteps him and slips into the car.

Luckily, the Yato and the commander of the Kiheitai don't notice the car pull away from the curb with a flailing Hijikata hanging from the hood.

* * *

“He got laid,” Kamui sputters. Kamui never sputters. Shinsuke is suddenly amused.

“And he knew you were coming, so he disappeared. You don't give your lieutenant enough credit.”

Kamui's astonished and he's paler than his usual pale, which is to say, he's looks like a ghost. “B-but, he's so _ugly_. Who would want to mate with him!?”

Shinsuke shrugs, puffing on his kiseru. “Love works in mysterious ways. I once knew a dead-eyed samurai who fell in love with a man whose hair was lovelier than any woman's.”

“If you're about to go into one of your brooding lectures, don't,” Kamui sneers, clenching his fists. “I smell human. A human's stolen Abuto from us. This can't stand, Shinsuke. He has duties to the Yato clan.”

“He put his dick above the safety of his tribe, and that's why you want to hunt him down?” Shinsuke chortles into his kiseru. “You're just mad he didn't tell you he had a boyfriend.”

“I'm his captain; I have every right to know!” The redhead screeches shrilly.

“You also gave him a vacation,” Shinsuke reminds him. “Let him live. He'll be back on the twelfth.”

Kamui vigorously shakes his head. “No! I want to meet the little human now! We're gonna find him, Shinsuke, and then we're gonna-”

“-you're gonna do what?” Shinsuke interrupts. “What're you gonna do, Kamui, kill him? Kill him and piss off your lieutenant? Who knows, maybe this time he'll quit and join the Kaientai. You're playing with fire. Hunt the human if you want, but lay a finger on him, and your tribe will fall apart.”

Kamui freezes, sputtering again. “I-I wasn't gonna kill him!”

“You were gonna kill him,” Shinsuke deadpans. “I thought your brain was back on track after Harusame pumped those drugs into your system to knock you out, but it seems like I was wrong. Tell me, Kamui, what do you intend to do when you find your lieutenant's human?”

Kamui's red in the face, and Shinsuke bites back his laughter as Kamui gets angrier and angrier. “I'm gonna-,” he's redder than the tomatoes Bansai eats raw.

“You're gonna what?” Shinsuke asks one last time.

Kamui deflates entirely, falling flat on his ass. “I'm gonna invite him over for dinner.”

Shinsuke nods, taking a seat next to his lover. “Is that all?”

Kamui rolls his eyes. “I'm gonna treat him respectfully so Abuto doesn't quit.”

“Because what happens when Abuto quits?”

“Yeah, yeah, the tribe will disappear on me, I know!” Kamui screeches again. “Ugh! I can't believe he didn't tell me! I tell him everything!”

“You tell everyone everything,” Shinsuke reminds him.

“But love! Love is real; it's pure! You're supposed to tell people!”

“Not if you're a police officer,” Shinsuke hums into his pipe.

Kamui blinks. “Say what?”

Shinsuke points at the lock of hair strewn across the floor. Kamui crawls over to the spot, picks up the strands, lets them filter through his finger before dropping them back onto the matted floor. “Gun powder.”

“The dogs could take thirty baths and spend ten years in a cave, but the smell of the Bakufu's gun powder will never leave their hair and skin. I'm surprised your lieutenant could sleep with such an overpowering smell assaulting his senses.”

“Abuto's never been the smart one, even if he is sensible,” Kamui sighs, flicking the rest of the strands off his fingers. “We have to find them, Shinsuke.”

“I suppose so. If they knew we were coming, and if your lieutenant knows he's sleeping with a member of the Shinsengumi, then they also know that the Bakufu dogs aren't far behind.”

All the rage and confusion is gone, replaced by glee. “This is gonna be fun.”

Shinsuke shrugs, getting up and making his way to the door. “Perhaps.”

Kamui squees and then lunges at Shinsuke. Shinsuke's pipe falls out of his hand when he's picked up and twirled around. “We can kill the Shinsengumi and _then_ have a dinner party! Oh, it's gonna be so much fun!”

Shinsuke tries not to gag. “Of course. Also, you're crushing me, asshole, let go.”

Kamui slackens his hold but doesn't let go. “I love you so much, Shinsuke,” he coos, nuzzling his cheek. “You're my smarter half; the darkness that makes my heart warm, my darling, my left nut.” He noisily kisses his cheek.

“We're not having sex in this room.”

Kamui pouts. “It was worth a try.”

Shinsuke picks up his fallen pipe and they walk out hand-in-hand, not at all aware of the genderless creature standing vigil in the shallow pond outside the room.

* * *

 “I did it, Ikumatsu-san,” Katsura informs the owner of the ramen bar.

“Why are you wet?” She inquires, her features marked by confusion.

“I did it for love,” Katsura assures her. “I did it for love.”

* * *

A man named Hattori Zenzou lets Yamazaki and him into his compound. From the main house, Abuto can sense the property is spacious both horizontally as well as vertically. He has to be a ninja, one of those special operations guys Yamazaki was watching his dramas about last night. But how could a lowly inspector of the local police force be so well-connected to an obviously wealthy ninja?

Unless.

“You didn't tell me you were a ninja,” Abuto drawls, letting Yamazaki's fingers work him open. They're in a guest house three houses away from the main house, their weapons an arm's length away from the futon they're sprawled out on.

“A spy,” Yamazaki corrects, moving his fingers in scissor-like motions. A few seconds later he slips them out and slides his cock in.

Abuto grunts, pushing back earnestly against the intrusion. “Are we being honest to each other now?”

“To be fair,” Yamazaki's breath hitches and he thrusts harshly against Abuto's buttocks, “I had no reason to disclose my status as a spy since I'm still coded as an inspector at roll-call.”

Abuto lets himself fall flat on his stomach, curling his fingers around sheets as Yamazaki's thrusts pick up their pace. He groans into the pillow when the smaller man rolls his hips, kneading the flesh of his hips. “I used to be a Harusame pirate,” Abuto breathes, rubbing his erection against the sheets to let the friction pleasure his arousal.

Yamazaki bites the shell of his ear before responding. “I guessed. Your boss is the former leader of the seventh division, hmm?”

Abuto groans in response, his climax approaching. “We're playing a game we're both gonna lose,” he breathes heavily. It doesn't take long before he comes, and Yamazaki keeps thrusting until he's sated and rolled off of him.

“We don't have to,” Yamazaki points out, his fingers kneading the scarred flesh of his stump. “We can just keep playing until we both get bored.”

“Love doesn't get boring for Yato,” he admits. He turns away from Yamazaki, faces his umbrella, lets his eyes linger on his bag and the book full of poetry resting inside of it. “If anything, love ends up killing us in the end.”

It's not a lie. Yato are beasts. They love as much as they destroy, but tonight, tonight Abuto wants to sleep. Yamazaki attempts to curl up against him, but Abuto straightens his spine and wards off the warmth of his touch. Yamazaki gets the message, backs away, and Abuto's alone again.

Deep down, he knows he's never been this lonely ever before. There's another man's semen slicking the inside of his thighs and dripping onto the sheets of the futon, yet he's never felt such coldness permeate his skin, his insides, his chest. He can feel the anger bubbling, the Yato in him begin to call for release. He should kill the human, let him know that disrespect isn't an option, that this isn't a game to be bored with. It isn't a fling. It's love, and it's filthy, and Abuto is ashamed.

When Abuto looks over his shoulder, he sees Yamazaki's back to him. Good, because they're be better off without facing each other. A game to be bored with? Abuto took two weeks off and accidentally fell in love. This isn't a joke anymore. A game? The anger strengthens with each passing second, and Abuto wants to get rid of his control and let the animal rip Yamazaki to shreds for humiliating him. He wants to destroy everything, everyone, wants to go back to being a homicidal eighteen year old's punching bag.

But instead, he turns his gaze back to his umbrella and quietly counts to a hundred. He's tired and he needs sleep. He'll sleep and tomorrow morning, he'll get up and leave. There's no love between plain, old men on vacation from their actual lives. It's a fling, a fleeting moment in time, a mirage that will disappear with the darkness. Like Rakuyou, love intends to make him rot instead of help him persevere. And deep down, deep down Abuto knows that it's for the best. There's no love between humans and Amanto. There's no love, period. Yato walk alone. Abuto should have known better than to think otherwise. He supposes he's paying for it in kind now.

When he cries, the tears are silent and his face remains hard, unchanging. He doesn't frown, he doesn't sniffle. He just lets them fall, lets them dry, and then drifts off into a sleep that's bound to bring him nightmares.

* * *

 


	4. In Which Friends Give Good Advice and Enemies Make Haste

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So maybe his love for Gintoki doesn't make any sense right now and hurts them both, but Katsura loves love, and Yamazaki Sagaru is in love with Abuto of the Yato clan.

“Oi, old lady. Can I get a drink?”

“It's six in the morning, boy. You should be next to your lover, not heckling for sake at the crack of dawn.”

“Shouldn't you be servicing your husband like a good wife instead of smoking cigarettes outside when there's barely any light?”

“He's dead.”

“My condolences. Can I still get a drink?”

“Only if you tell me why you didn't bring your lover when I specifically told you to.”

“Only if you offer the good stuff, you gossip hag.”

Otose shrugs. “I do what I can.” She waves him inside, the sun's light barely peeking through the clouds, the streets dark and empty. Abuto takes one look at the sky and ambles in after the old woman. It's a good day to be sad, old, and lonely.

* * *

“So you're telling me that in our quest to eavesdrop on Yamazaki's private life, we find out that he's dating a Yato on the DL, but not just any ordinary Yato, but the lieutenant of the former seventh division of the Harusame Pirates, and that Takasugi Shinsuke, leader of one of the most violent insurrectionist groups in Edo, is currently bedding the former captain of the Harusame Pirates' seventh division? Is that what you're telling me.”

Kondou sobs into his tissue while Okita gently rubs his back. “That's what I'm telling you, Hijikata-san. But honestly, can we just put Yamazaki in prison for treason? It'll save us the trouble, and when we condition him into believing that dating that Yato was an anpan-induced mistake, we can just recondition him into being a better spy.”

“If he's knowingly sleeping with a known criminal, then that's grounds for an internal investigation.” Hijikata lights another cigarette, rubbing his throbbing forehead. “”If this reaches the top brass, we'll be in for more than just simple conditioning and reconditioning procedures.”

“You're looking at this wrong!” Kondou cries, blowing his nose into a tissue again. “They're in love! Two men from opposite houses, houses that despise each other! They ran away for love, Toshi! Sougo, they ran away for their looooove!”

“Quick, Hijikata-san, find a solution before the commander passes out again like he did last time.” Okita continues to rub gentle circles into Kondou's back. He cocks his head to the side and thinks. “You know, it's not so bad. They're probably just fooling around and it'll all be back to normal before we know it. Maybe we should sit this one out; let Yamazaki have his fun.”

“He's still in danger,” Hijikata reminds him. “Even if they are just fooling around, the Yato still cared enough to get him out of there before his boss tore down the door. He could have easily fought us, but running off with Yamazaki so his boss wouldn't find them? That denotes affection.”

“Love, Toshi!” Kondou screeches. “It's love, and don't you dare reduce it to anything else!”

Hijikata twitches. “Fine. They're in love. They're in love and-”

“-they're in danger,” Okita finishes. “Yamazaki's in danger. Even if the top brass finds out, whatever they do won't be half as bad as whatever the former captain of the seventh dishes out. I've heard stories about this one.”

Kondou suddenly stops crying. Okita blinks, shuffles away from his commander while Hijikata raises an eyebrow. Kondou straightens his spine, his wet eyes shimmering with fury. “I won't let this stand. An inspector of the Shinsengumi in danger for being in love? Not on my watch. On my honor as the commander of the Shinsengumi, I swear to protect Yamazaki Sagaru from the former captain of the seventh division!” His conviction gives him the ethereal glow Hijikata has grown to both admire and regret. “If Kamui of the Yato clan wants a war, he's about to get one!”

“You have got to be fucking kidding me,” Hijikata groans. “One second you tell me to stand down because the Kiheitai's commander is on vacation, and the next second you want to go to war with his boyfriend.”

Okita shrugs on Kondou's behalf. “Kondou-san's love for his Shinsengumi is a lot stronger than your pettiness, Hijikata-san. If you loved yourself and your brains just a little bit more, you would have caught on.”

Before Hijikata can lunge for the blonde's throat, Kondou pulls him into a hug. “SOUGOOOO!”

Okita pats his back. “Yes, commander.”

“TOSHIIIII!”

“God fucking dammit, fine. Fine, we're gonna do this, but since we don't know where the hell they are, we're gonna have to hire the Yorozuya to find him. Don't give me that look, Kondou-san, THIS IS COMING OUT OF YOUR POCKET!”

Somewhere far, far away, a white-haired male with too many boogers in his nose groans, sneezes, and gets pulled out of dreamland. “Zura, what the fuck was that?”

“Zura ja nai, Katsura da,” mumbles the dark haired male spooning the white-haired man.

“I sneezed, asshole, get me a tissue.”

“Tissue ja nai, Katsura da,” he continues to mumble sleepily, eyes wide open and far too scary for Gintoki's fragile heart.

“Fucking wighead,” he grumbles, scrunching his nose. “It's too early for this shit.” He huffs and goes back to sleep, but not before pushing against the warm embrace holding him safe.

* * *

When Sagaru wakes up, it's already bright outside. The winter birds take their time chirping and tweeting the rest of the neighborhood awake while Sagaru basks beneath the warmth of the futon's comforter. It takes him a moment, but eventually he notices the absence of a warmer body that should be next to him. He blinks, gets up and realizes the umbrella, daypack, and the leather notebook are all gone. Sagaru thumbs the other half of the futon, feels the cold spread, figures Abuto's probably been gone for hours. The sun is bright and beaming outside despite the freezing temperatures, and later tonight, Sagaru has a feeling it's going to snow.

“He left before dawn,” Zenzou tells him at breakfast.

“I think I insulted him last night.” He's calm. This isn't the first time he's been left before daylight the morning after a night of passion. Sagaru's been known to put his foot in his mouth, so he suspects this is just payback for his numerous fuck-ups.

Zenzou snorts, casually turning a page of JUMP's latest addition. “You definitely did.”

Sagaru pales. “Please tell me you weren't eavesdropping while we were having sex.”

Zenzou shrugs. “I'm a ninja. It comes with the territory. Also, good technique, I can see why a Yato would fall hard.”

“He's in love, isn't he?”

“I believe he insinuated that much, but you decided to shoot him down right after making him cum. Honestly, Sagaru-kun, what were you thinking?”

Sagaru takes a long drag of his coffee, letting the hot liquid burn the roof of his mouth and his tongue. “You know all I'm good at is making a mess.”

Zenzou shakes his head, eyes still focused on the magazine spread open next to his grilled fish and rice. “You don't give yourself enough credit. In your quest to deprecate yourself, you've hurt his feelings as well.”

“Well, haven't you hurt people's feelings by accident before?”

“Of course I have,” the blonde ninja deadpans. “But I make an effort to apologize because I like sex and my partners have always been kind people.”

“You're banging the shogun, Zenzou-kun, please stop pretending like you've had anyone else in your sex life since you started dating him when you were nineteen.”

“He treats me very well,” Zenzou sniffs haughtily, turning to the Bleach section of JUMP. “And I don't make a habit of treating our love like a vacation fling.”

“I just said we'd get bored eventually!”

Zenzou raises his head, and unlike most people, Sagaru actually gets to see the eyes behind his fringe. They're pretty eyes, and maybe if life were different and he'd dyed his hair bright blonde, he'd be chasing after the leader of the Oniwaban instead of a mercenary under Kamui Yato's control. Zenzou stares at him, disappointment creasing his features, worry marring his deep, blue eyes.

“What if he doesn't want to get bored, Sagaru-kun?”

Sagaru sighs, faceplanting on the wooden table. “I know,” he mumbles miserably.

“You know he's in love with you, and you want to play games?”

“I don't want problems,” he groans.

“You _already_ have problems. If I recall correctly, you said your _bosses_ are privy to this information as well.”

“It's a god damn mess, Zenzou-kun, a complete mess!”

“Then fix it. I hear the Yorozuya are good at solving messes.”

“They make them worse!”

“Bad before the good, Sagaru-kun. Bad before the good.”

They finish the rest of their breakfast in silence. The birds haven't stopped chirping, and somewhere along the way, he finds himself thinking about what would have transpired if he'd still been on the streets. Would he have ever walked into Ikumatsu's Ramen Bar? Would he have met Abuto? Probably not, he figures. He would probably still be in his tenement on Joui Row, would have most likely joined the local Yakuza, and if bad became worse, peddled drugs in Yoshiwara with his discretionary skills. He would never have applied for a ninja license, never became friends with Zenzou along the way, never became an honorary member of the Oniwaban when the Shinsengumi weren't looking. Life would definitely have been a lot different.

But at the same time, maybe he would choose to do things more for himself than others, become less selfless, more selfish, maybe take regular vacations from work like average salarymen instead of one every ten years. Yet, at the same time, would Abuto have found him interesting enough? Would Zenzou have offered to help him get his ninja license? Would he have met Tama?

He dons his haori, straps his sword and picks up his daypack. “Thank you for the hospitality, Zenzou-kun.” They're outside of the compound now, both itching to get back to the warmth of their heated floors and comfortable shawls.

“Try not to die in the process,” Zenzou drawls. “Sarutobi would kill me if you missed Otaku night.”

Sagaru smiles. “I'll bring my boyfriend.”

Zenzou walks away, whistling as he waves without turning around. “You do that!”

Sagaru chuckles, making his way towards Yorozuya Gin-san. “I will.”

* * *

“I can smell him, Shinsuke! He went this way!”

“Are you half-dog or something,” he grumbles. “Why couldn't we eat before we left?”

“Time is of the essence! Look! The snack house! That's where he's hiding!”

Takasugi sees the sign about the snack shop. “God fucking dammit.”

But Kamui doesn't hear him. He sprints off towards the building while Takasugi swallows his pride and takes after the excited redhead.

* * *

“Oi, Zura.”

“Zura ja nai, Katsura da!”

Gintoki waves away the correction. “I'm feeling some type of way,” he whispers urgently.

“I used a condom so you can't be pregnant,” Katsura clips, pulling on his haori and sandals.

“Not what I meant, asshole! Listen. I feel... dread? Like something bad's about to happen. Zura, what if we've been found out?”

Katsura scoffs and ties his sandals. “I don't have time for your paranoid delusions Gintoki! I have to go save two people's right to love one another. Just because _you_ want to keep our relationship hidden doesn't mean everyone else wants to follow the same example!”

“No, you idiot, I'm not ashamed of what we have!”

“Doesn't seem like it,” the Joui rebel leader responds irately before strapping on his sword belt and making way for the window.

Gintoki sighs heavily, getting underneath the comforter again. “Whatever,” he mumbles irritably.

“Whatever indeed,” Katsura clips back icily, quietly jumping out of the side window with his next breath.

So maybe their love doesn't make sense and would probably never work out, but Katsura loves love. Love helps people move forward, live beautifully, die with conviction in their hearts. So maybe his love for Gintoki doesn't make any sense right now and hurts them both, but Katsura loves love, and Yamazaki Sagaru is in love with Abuto of the Yato clan, and vice versa. It's a warm feeling, a feeling that touches the very core of his being. So what if one happened to be a Bakufu dog and the other a mercenary under Leader's older brother. That didn't matter. Gintoki never managed to love him enough to stay around, and today, after ten years of absence and another few months of stepping around stones, they're back to playing the kind of hide-and-seek that hurts more than it does help.

But those are Katsura's failures, Katsura's inability to understand that love doesn't always get reciprocated the same way. For Yamazaki and the Yato, it's different. There's love that needs to be recognized, realized, lived in. And whoever thinks Katsura is a fair loser is wrong. He doesn't like to lose. He can begrudgingly accept it, but getting even is more fun. Helping people fall in love and stay in love is a lot more fun.

So he attempts to makes his way back to Joui Row so he can prepare for more reconnaissance but suddenly catches sight of a redhead with a long braid making way towards the snack house at top speed, and behind him, a familiar one-eyed man with golden spirals embossed on his haori.

“God fucking dammit,” curses Katsura Kotarou.

“God fucking dammit,” whispers Abuto, watching his boss and his boss's boyfriend sprint towards the snack shop's entrance.

“God fucking dammit,” bellows Hijikata Toushirou as he catches sight of Kamui and Takasugi running wildly towards the Yorozuya.

“God fucking dammit,” bellows the stake-out god as Sagaru clenches his throbbing heart and makes a beeline for the back entrance of the snack shop.

God fucking dammit indeed.

* * *

 

 


	5. In Which Everything Comes to an End

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's too cold, too bright outside. Tears spring to her eyes as she takes in Kamui's bloody smile, the dark spot on Zura's shoulder that leaks blood, the shopkeepers hiding behind their shelves, the children staring in awe from their windows. Far down the road, she catches a glimpse of Shinpachi sprinting towards them at full speed- Shinpachi with his ironed clothes, combed hair, breath most likely smelling of whatever dark matter Aneue cooked up this morning. Kagura doesn't need to look down at herself to take in the wrinkled cloth, sleep-addled eyes, bad breath, and loose hair. A shining sun, a deep-rooted lethargy that overtakes her whenever she doesn't have her umbrella shielding her from its poisonous rays, a fire that burns slowly like a cancer spreading lazily underneath her skin- Kagura snaps. She snaps and charges at Kamui at full strength with eyes shining bright red, just like her ancestors.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And thus, the conclusion, dun dun dun! Many thanks to everyone who stayed through the whole story, and thank you to all for taking the time to read my trash! As per usual, feedback feeds my soul, so don't hesitate to bother me! :D

So it goes a little something like this: Kagura hears a fierce bellow and snaps awake, then jolts up when she recognizes the high-pitched giggling that comes after. She scrambles out of her closet, out the sliding doors, and peers down at the street below to witness her brother taking a violent jab at Zura with the front of his umbrella.

“Ka-KAMUIIIIIIIII!” She manages with a hoarse breath and bulging eyes.

“Shut up, runt!” He calls back gleefully, eyes fixed on Zura's harried form.

It takes a total of three seconds for her to grab her umbrella and then jump down to the street in her pajamas to engage in combat. Next to Kamui is the man Kagura remembers as Takasugi, the man who was indirectly responsible for the time the Yorozuya assumed Zura was dead. Her nose flares, mussed hair fluttering in the cold wind.

“LEADER, GET BACK INSIDE!” Zura yells, his sword clashing with Takasugi's.

It's too cold, too bright outside. Tears spring to her eyes as she takes in Kamui's bloody smile, the dark spot on Zura's shoulder that leaks blood, the shopkeepers hiding behind their shelves, the children staring in awe from their windows. Far down the road, she catches a glimpse of Shinpachi sprinting towards them at full speed- Shinpachi with his ironed clothes, combed hair, breath most likely smelling of whatever dark matter Aneue cooked up this morning. Kagura doesn't need to look down at herself to take in the wrinkled cloth, sleep-addled eyes, bad breath, and loose hair. A shining sun, a deep-rooted lethargy that overtakes her whenever she doesn't have her umbrella shielding her from its poisonous rays, a fire that burns slowly like a cancer spreading lazily underneath her skin- Kagura snaps. She snaps and charges at Kamui at full strength with eyes shining bright red, just like her ancestors.

Meanwhile, Hijikata, Kondou, and Okita scramble out of their police car with clipped lips and wide eyes as brother and sister face off in broad daylight, the sunlight poisoning their skin and teeth, but not enough to deter them from ripping out each other's throats.

“I've got China,” Okita starts.

“No, I have the kid,” Hijikata clips back shortly. “You get Yamazaki and run. Kondou-san, draw your sword.”

Kondou doesn't need another word and skillfully deflects a slash aimed at Katsura's right arm. Katsura's alarmed face lasts for a millisecond before he resumes his stance and allows for Kondou to join his rank.

“Today, we put aside our differences,” Kondou clarifies.

“Today, we fight for love,” Katsura agrees.

Takasugi starts to laugh, but its cut short when two separate swordsmen come barreling for his throat the next second.

* * *

“The problem is outside, kid.”

“I believe part of it is sitting at your bar, Otose-san,” Okita deadpans, staring straight ahead at the Yato who flexes his bionic fingers after finishing his cup of sake.

Otose blows smoke directly into Okita's face. “Just a man in need of a drink and a shoulder to cry on.”

“He can cry in prison,” Okita states, pulling out his sword.

Catherine dumps a mug of beer on Okita's head while Tama pulls out her flamethrower and holds it to Okita's neck. Otose blows another waft of smoke at his face. “Walk away, kid.”

Okita smiles and it's the kind of smile that gets people killed. “No.”

A bullet zings off Okita's sword while Catherine jumps in to shield Otose from the onslaught of bullets. Tama's flamethrower lies slashed in half while Okita ambles over to the Yato standing carefully with his smoking umbrella gun aimed towards his chest.

“I didn't want any trouble,” Abuto admits sincerely. “I just wanted a vacation.”

“Your wonderful captain put a bullet in the resident Joui faction leader, so I'm not that perturbed, but don't you think all of the brawling could have been avoided if you'd taken your vacation elsewhere?”

Abuto sighs, the tip of his umbrella still pointing towards Okita's heart. “I know that know. Can't say I'm sorry since I got a little something out of it, but Kamui wasn't expected. I can apologize for that much.”

Okita shrugs. “Apologies don't ever work, so there's no point in trying.”

“Don't come any closer, human-san, I'm begging you.”

Okita grins maniacally. “And what's a Yato gonna do to his favorite bar hostess's livelihood? One more bullet, and the whole building goes down.”

Abuto gulps. “Please,” he tries again.

“No.”

Yamazaki's timing, as per usual, is impeccable, and the when the back door bursts open, Abuto goes tumbling towards Okita's sword, his umbrella gun slipping out of his hand.

Which creates a whole new problem when Yamazaki catches sight of Okita's sword sliding cleaning through Abuto's prosthetic while the runners of Otose's snack shop cuss up a storm against one of Yamazaki's bosses. He can just vaguely see Kamui Yato and Kagura face off outside the front of the building, can hear Hijikata grunting and screaming somewhere in the midst, followed by a bellow or two by their resident gorilla commander.

But all of that is pretty much useless against the image of Abuto shielding his head with his bionic arm while his flesh arm is bleeding underneath a broken table. Maybe it's the stake-out god who urges the following behaviors, or maybe it's the fact that Abuto is someone more to him now than just a temporary fuck in a rented out inn. It definitely doesn't help that there's been blood spilled, tables smashed, bullets lying scattered on the wooden floor, and three women standing fearfully away from his captain and his diabolical smile.

Maybe it's the Jimmy of the old, the anpan freak who used to have tattoos, piercings, and a taste for death. Yamazaki's sword levels itself against Okita's jugular.

“Stand down, Okita-san,” Yamazaki says calmly. It's scary how serene he can sound in situations that can get him killed in various, morbid ways.

Smile faltering, Okita gives him a blank look. “Excuse me?”

“Let go of him, or I'll be forced to resign over private matters,” Yamazaki promises.

“You look like a serial killer with that smile, Yamazaki-san,” Abuto drawls from the floor, cradling his bleeding flesh arm with the remnants of his prosthetic.

“I can kill you, Yamazaki, and no one at the top will ask any questions,” Okita reminds him.

“Can you please save your sadistic tendencies for when you have a girlfriend, captain? It's starting to reflect on your work ethic,” Yamazaki clips back, eyes briefly narrowing into slits. “Please. Away from my boyfriend. _Now_ , Okita-san.” Yamazaki presses his blade ever so slightly, but not so much as to break the skin.

Okita steps back, letting Abuto get dragged away by a shaking Catherine and a silent Tama while Otose brandishes a revolver from beneath the folds of her kimono. She places the barrel directly against the back of Okita's head.

“I'm not one to hold kids hostage, but this is for a good man with bad luck.” She looks at Yamazaki who's finally sheathed his sword. “Take your man and scram, asshole. If I didn't already have to deal with this one, I'd put one in your shin for breaking Abuto's heart.”

Yamazaki gulps, shakily scratches his head. “T-thank you Otose-san.”

She nods while Catherine and Tama hand off a bleeding Abuto to Yamazaki. Yamazaki wraps his arm around the man's waist and hoists his bleeding flesh arm around his shoulder. They shuffle out awkwardly through the back, and it's only after they hear a car start and take off is when Otose pulls the trigger.

Empty. Catherine lets out a broken sob while Otose puts the gun back beneath the folds of her kimono. “Go home, kid. This isn't something you're bound to win.”

Okita stays silent, blank eyes fixed on the back door.

* * *

“So this is what the wighead's been up to. Fucking idiot.”

“Uh, Gintoki-san, where are you taking us?”

“A haunted inn up in the mountains.”

Yamazaki blanches while Abuto fitfully sleeps on his lap, arm bandaged with a strip of Yamazaki's haori. “A h-haunted inn?”

Gintoki scoffs. “You just put a sword to your boss's throat and now you're stuttering because of a couple of ghosts? Man up, Yamazaki!”

“I'm trying,” Yamazaki cries helplessly.

“Try harder,” Gintoki demands, turning the getaway car onto the desolate road leading up into the mountains.

* * *

“Reconcile, fall in love, fall asleep next to each other, apply for a marriage license in the morning,” Otose drawls, dragging out her breath, smoke clouding the air in front of the Shinsengumi commander.

“They made it out safely then?” Kondou asks hesitantly.

Otose nods. “They're safe.”

Kondou's relief is visible. “Thank you, Otose-san.”

“Keep an eye on that kid,” she clips in response, eying Okita's silent form.

Kondou purses his lips. “I'll talk to him.”

“The Yato drew his umbrella gun!” Hijikata calls gruffly from his seat on the floor, letting Tama finish dressing his wounds.

“Because your asshole kid wanted to play the killing game instead of doing what he was told!” Catherine shouts viciously from behind the bar. “Fire him for insubordination!”

“I'll fire _you_ for insubordination if you butt into my conversation again, idiot!” Otose barks, thumping Catherine on the head with her unoccupied fist. Then she glares at Kondou's slightly quivering form. “You said you were on a quest to preserve love, but instead of doing just that, you caused ten million yen worth of damage to the block, accidentally stabbed my blind grandkid, and then passed out from a heatstroke. What do you have to say for yourself, Shinsengumi Commander Kondou Isao?”

Tears well up in Kondou's eyes and before he can answer, he breaks out into heart-wrenching sobs. Otose cringes before sighing and resigning herself to her cigarette once more. Hijikata grunts, turning away from his blathering commander and Okita keeps his eyes fixed on the back door from which Abuto and Yamazaki escaped hours earlier.

“It's a truce, for now,” Otose drawls, eyes shifting towards the entrance to the bar. From her position, she could see the sun dipping in the horizon.

Kondou sniffs, taking a tissue Catherine proffers from underneath the bar. “I'm sorry,” Kondou sobs. “I know should have done more. I didn't think this through properly. I take full responsibility!”

“Go home then.”

Kondou blinks, dabbing his wet eyes. “Huh?”

“I said go home,” Otose drawls, eyes fixing on Kondou once more. “You want to take responsibility? Then take it. Take it, and go home. Fix what you messed up here and issue a proper apology to your subordinate when he comes back to work in two weeks.”

Kondou blinks at her with watery eyes. “D-do you think he'll come back?”

She shrugs. “I suppose so. I've seen his kind before. Wouldn't have hesitated to slice open a cheek or two if it meant scoring a hit or satiating blood lust. Instead, he scrambled out that back door as soon as I had the kid under control. He's devoted to his work, but now he has to share that devotion between the Shinsengumi and his lover. It'll be difficult, but he'll try his best. If you want to take responsibility for this mess, ease his burdens. He won't be able to function and will most likely quit your organization if he snaps.”

Kondou regains composure of himself while Catherine pours him a cup of sake. He bows his head lightly at the woman and then finishes the cup in one gulp. “He's trying.” Kondou smiles, his eyes shimmering with mirth. “He really is trying.”

Otose finishes off his cigarette and pours herself a cup of sake. “Of course he is.”

Outside, sirens begin to wail as an ambulance approaches. Otose blinks out of her reverie as the rest of the snack shop employees and the Shinsengumi raise their eyebrows questioningly at the sound of the blaring sirens. Seconds later, her bespectacled grandson, Shinpachi, along with Sadaharu and Gintoki, come flying down the stairs and start shouting for the ambulance to hurry up. Otose slides out of the bar and outside into the cold evening, only to see an unconscious Kagura in Gintoki's arm.

“Asshole! What happened to her!?” She rushes over to the girl who's passed out in his arms. She shakily feels the girl's forehead, checks her over for any serious wounds. “I thought you said she'd be fine without a doctor!”

“It's not that, Otose-san,” Shinpachi cries. He wipes his tears and snot with his sleeve. Meanwhile, the Shinsengumi lumber out of the snack shop and circle around the harried members of the Yorozuya.

“What the fuck happened to the kid,” Hijikata mumbles, peering over Kondou's shoulder.

“Ask them,” Gintoki snipes scathingly, gesturing towards the two men peering below at the commotion.

“Kamui, you bastard,” Hijikata growls. “What the fuck did you do!?”

Kamui laughs evily. “Nothing! Honest~” He winks at Hijikata's fuming form, and Kondou jumps on his vice commander before he starts another fight.

“What did you do, kid?” Otose commands, back stiff and eyes blazing with hatred.

“He kissed his boyfriend,” Okita drawls from behind her.

Everyone but Shinpachi, Gintoki, and the unconscious Kagura blink.

“... excuse me?” Otose turns to the blonde kid she only recently held up with an empty gun.

“China saw her brother making out with his boyfriend,” Okita yawns, stretching his arms. “I suspect her assumption was that they were in a strictly professional relationship and then found out that they weren't. Hence,” he points at the unconscious form and the finally the ambulance that halts to a screech in front of Otose's building.

“I was giving Shinsuke a hicky in the bathroom when she came in without knocking!” Kamui crows gleefully from his perch on the Yorozuya's porch.

“Jesus, Mary, and Amanto have mercy,” Kondou breathes, clearly terrified.

“He gave her a stroke, Otose-san,” Shinpachi squawks, tears spilling down his cheeks as the medics strap Kagura to a stretcher and wheel her away.

“Monster,” Gintoki accuses the Yato man. “MONSTER!”

Kamui's gleeful laughter and Takasugi's snickering reverberate throughout Kabukichou that night, and had Otose not already lost sixty thousand yen worth of alcohol to bullets and sword slashes, she would have thrown her worst bottle at the redhead's smug face.

But instead, she rubs her forehead and tells Catherine to hail a cab so they can follow the ambulance back to the hospital.

* * *

The blankets are warm. There's a blizzard outside, the inn alive with the sounds of howling wind and thick snowflakes slapping against the glass windows. When Sakata Gintoki had first pulled the getaway car up to the inn, Sagaru had been sure they'd ended up at a traditional little hovel tucked into the side of the mountain, but instead, they ended up walking towards a dilapidated little structure with both western and traditional rooms, along with a homely woman as the only attendant.

Sagaru chose the western room at the back of the inn, and the old lady simply handed him the keys and let him and Sakata Gintoki carry Abuto into the room. She hadn't asked any questions. After he dressed Abuto's wounds with better equipment, he washed his hands and went in search for food. When he slid open his door, there was already food and drinks in front of the door. Sagaru ate all of the food and drank all of the wine.

Now he's tucked into a western bed next to Abuto, eyes taking in the open window and the barrage of snowflakes and white sky obscuring the moon. It's actually a very pretty sight. There are no street lights out this far up the mountain. It's a desolate little inn, one Sagaru could have ended up in on the first night of his vacation if he'd forsaken the vodka and headed straight to the bus stop.

Instead, he'd went to Ikumatsu's.

“I'm hungry,” Abuto croaks.

“Eh?” Sagaru blinks, gently removing the covers and pulling himself up. “Are you feeling better?”

“If I get some food, I'll be at a hundred percent,” Abuto replies thickly. Sagaru nods and slips out of the bed to get the innkeeper.

When Sagaru returns, Abuto's pulled on a loose, brown yukata, compliments of the house. He lounges on the bed, legs crossed, eyes fixed on the snow storm Sagaru had been staring at earlier. He places the food and drinks on the table.

“I'm sorry about your stuff,” Sagaru starts. “I didn't think to take them with me.”

Abuto shrugs. “I'll just get another one and cut this short.”

Sagaru freezes. “... what?”

“It was a nice ride while it lasted,” the blonde man continues, staring at stormy setting behind the glass. “But I need a new prosthetic, umbrella, and daypack. Kamui won't be giving me any more vacations any time soon, so I'll have to cut this short and salvage whatever I have left in my savings. I suppose I could take out a loan, but I'm not too good with money, so I think I'll just go back to work tomorrow.”

Sagaru steps forward and takes a closer look at Abuto's form. His eyes widen. Most of the thicker bandages have been removed and when Sagaru glances at the small trash bin in the corner of the room, he can see swathes of bloody bandages sticking out of the top.

“Y-you,” Sagaru sputters.

“-all healed up,” Abuto finishes for him. “I'm all healed up, so you don't have to worry, Yamazaki-san.”

The tiredness that normally wrinkles Abuto's eyes reflects in his voice. Sagaru sees his shoulders sag, his breaths coming in lazy draws. “Thank you for getting me out of there, but I'm good now. Some food and a little more sleep, and I'll be outta yer hair. Thank you.”

Sagaru supposes this is when he says no problem, bows a few times, and then high tail it out of the room with his sword, haori, and wallet. He would just ask the innkeeper for a separate room, and the next morning, catch the morning bus to Zenzou's compound so he could eat out the man's kitchen and then cry on his shoulder. They would probably also phone the rest of the Oniwaban and make it a literal pity party, break out the good sake, and then all fifteen or twenty of them would fall asleep in a cuddle pile smelling of alcohol and self-loathing. But Sagaru would be with friends, so he supposes it would be OK. He can just say thank you, move on with his life, finish out the rest of his vacation drowning in alcohol, and go back to work if he still had a job.

Sagaru _supposes_ that's what he should do. What he does instead is something entirely different.

“You know, punching me would be a better idea. I can take physical abuse. Words cut me deep and I usually go into psychotic episodes when I'm feeling some type of way,” Sagaru warns him sagely, retaking his side of the bed. “If a little roughhousing makes you happy, have at it.” He proffers his cheek.

Abuto blinks, his deadpan bored expression etched onto his face, his emotions imperceptible. “Why would I want to hit you?” He asks in the most bored tone Sagaru's ever had the misfortune of hearing.

“Because I hurt your feelings,” he tells Abuto matter-of-factly.

Abuto blinks again. “No you didn't.”

Sagaru sighs. “I did, and I'm sorry. I put my foot in my mouth and pushed you away. It was wrong of me, and if I had been more considerate, you'd have stayed by my side instead of going off to get drunk.”

Sagaru notices the flicker of fear in the blonde man's eyes but pretends he doesn't see it by coughing into his fist. Abuto scratches his head, settles back against the pillows on the bed. His next words are soft, almost pained. “I can't stay.”

“I know.” Sagaru's known for a very long time now. “That doesn't mean we can't have what's left.”

“Less than two weeks,” Abuto sighs.

“It only took two two shots of vodka and a bowl of ramen for me to fall in love,” Sagaru admits hesitantly.

“It took you sniping at me in public,” Abuto states blankly, eyes lingering on Sagaru's face. Sagaru can't help but chuckle, and soon, the chuckles turn into full blown laugher. Abuto joins in sometime after his third cough, lightly rubbing Sagaru's back with his flesh arm. Sagaru gazes at the man most would call ugly, lazy, shoddy...

Alien.

“Can I kiss you?”

Abuto straightens his back, fear crinkling his features again. “Sure.”

Sagaru presses his lips against soft, pink flesh. After a few seconds, he nuzzles the stubbly jaws, letting his hands drift to the obi holding Abuto's yukata together. “Let me make love to you,” he whispers into the shell of the bigger man's ear.

Abuto sighs heavily, melting into Sagaru's touch. “I swear to god, you're an Amanto. How the hell do you pull off unassuming inspector by day, then play spy lord at night, and then bend over a guy twice your size and fuck into a bed at three am? And yes,” Abuto finishes, chuckling heartily.

Sagaru doesn't quite know how to answer that. His life's been an inconsistent series of events thus far, going from abject poverty to a humble, middle-class existence, then to training to be a spy, and finally, at thirty-two, a ninja, a supposed “spy lord,” and now, a man's boyfriend. He snickers into Abuto's chest, grinning from ear to ear. “I have no fucking clue. The guy upstairs writing my backstory probably hates me.”

“Who, God?”

Sagaru shrugs, undoing the obi's knot and freeing Abuto's naked skin. “Who knows?”

Abuto shakes off the yukata and begins to help Sagaru undo his own. “Rakuyou doesn't have any gods.”

Sagaru scoffs, throwing his clothes aside. “Earth has too many.”

Abuto settles down on his back, letting Sagaru slip in between his legs. “Any other god in your life besides the stake-out god?”

Sagaru shakes his head. “Just that one. I suppose there's a gorilla god out there that watches over Kondou-san, but besides that one, I don't think there are any that apply to my life.”

“Oh, well. They're missing out on something beautiful.”

Abuto caresses a strand of his inky black hair. Sagaru drinks in the image of the man's relaxed form lying naked on a fluffed bed, pretty blonde hair mussed and strewn across his pillow. Sagaru raises the man's hips and slips one of the stray pillows underneath his butt, his eyes still fixed on Abuto's prone form and lingering touch.

“You're beautiful, Abuto-san,” Sagaru admits sincerely. “For someone like me, you're more than I could have ever hoped for.”

Abuto chuckles, threading his fingers through the rest of Sagaru's hair. “Shut up and kiss me, human.”

Sagaru grins. He doesn't take instruction very well, but for Abuto, he makes an effort.

Abuto moans into his touch, raises his hips with every one of Sagaru's thrusts, claws his nails down Sagaru's back when he quickens his pace, groans loudly into Sagaru's neck when he comes, hitches his breath when Sagaru comes inside of him, moans softly when Sagaru slips out and peppers kisses from his forehead to his lips.

“Huuuungry,” Abuto whines, reaching for the cold food. Sagaru chuckles, wets a wash cloth and tosses it at Abuto before carrying the tray of food over to the smirking man.

Sagaru feeds him, makes love to him again, spoons him, and then falls asleep to the sound of a snow storm blanketing the world with its purity.

* * *

“And you did all of that... just because you saw them chatting at the bar?” Ikumatsu's pale and rubbing her forehead. “A cup of sake, please, Elizabeth.” Elizabeth obligingly fills the glass to the brim and slides it over to the exasperated ramen bar tender.

Katsura nods yes and takes a noble sip of his hot tea. “I did what I had to, to help their love persevere.”

YOU COULD HAVE BROUGHT ME ALONG. Elizabeth snips passive aggressively with his message board.

Katsura shakes his head. “It was my personal battle- a quest the heavens intended me to see through. If I had left it alone, they may have never spoken to each other again after the first few nights together. I had to make sure they allowed themselves the opportunities to learn about themselves and each other before they ended their trysts and walked away from each other.”

“But that was their business,” Ikumatsu reminds him. “Why did you think they'd need your help?”

BECAUSE THEY REMIND HIM OF HIS LOVE FOR SOMEONE ELSE, IKUMATSU-SAN. Elizabeth rats him out. Katsura glares at his best friend before cowering his head in shame.

Ikumatsu gasps, something she's not prone to doing. “I can't believe this.”

“Unfortunately, Ikumatsu-san, even I am subject to the heart's desires,” Katsura admits morosely.

HE REGRETS IT EVERYDAY. Elizabeth adds, earning another glare.

She sighs, wiping the tidy surface of the bar with her washcloth. “At least it all worked out for the best. They're together now, aren't they?”

Katsura lights up at that. “Would you like to see something wonderful?”

Ikumatsu shrugs. “Why not? Shop doesn't open for another few hours.”

Katsura beams, all traces of nostalgia and melancholy gone from his eyes. “Let's go, Elizabeth! We're going to the Shinsengumi headquarters!”

OH, CRUD.

“Huh? What's at the Shinsengumi headquarters?” Ikumatsu asks, putting away her cloth.

“The rest of the love story, of course!” Katsura laughs genially.

Elizabeth and Ikumatsu sigh in unison (Elizabeth's imperceptible but still very much relevant) and follow the former noble youth of madness.

* * *

“Shinsuke, I think I'm having a heart attack, call a medic.”

“Huh? What the hell are you blabbering about this time?”

“Heart attack, medic, right now, Earth brawler-san,” Kamui repeats, staring intently at a lone piece of paper in his hand. Shinsuke peers over his shoulder, reads the first couple of lines, and then breaks out into his customary evil laughter.

Bansai, Matako, and Henpeita pop their heads into the private room and peer intently at their laughing boss and his unbecomingly stiff boyfriend.

“I'm gonna kill him,” Kamui promises. “I'm gonna kill him for real this time.”

Shinsuke snorts, breathing heavily. “You're not gonna do shit.”

Kamui looks like he's about to cry. “Shore leave. He wants _shore leave_.”

“ _Marital_ shore leave,” Shinsuke corrects him and goes back to laughing.

Bansai, Matako, and Henpeita can't help but snort viciously when Kamui howls in dismay.

* * *

“I got my umbrella and daypack back,” Abuto drawls, handing over the bento. “So now I don't have to give up my next paycheck. Thanks for the new arm, by the way.”

“Don't thank me, thank Gengai-san. He's such a sweetheart.”

“Heh, I'll drop by his shop before heading back to the ship. Also, it was the genderless creature that gave me the stuff. I thought Otose-san would have it, but instead, the Amanto, I swear it has to be an Amanto, caught me in an empty alley and gave me my stuff and then its _blessings_. It gave me its blessings, Sagaru.”

Sagaru gasps scandalously. “Could it be?”

Abuto nods firmly. “It has to be.”

“The stake-out god,” they mutter in unison. A few seconds later, they break into soft giggles.

Sagaru presses a long, lingering kiss on his lips. “Thank you for the bento box.”

“Thank you for marrying me,” Abuto smiles smugly. “Now I can take as many vacations as I want.”

“Otose-san was a doll for witnessing.”

“Now the bastard can't keep on the night shift without filling out the paper work,” Abuto chuckles in triumph.

“I'm glad Kamui was accommodating to your needs.”

“Hell no, that was his boyfriend. I heard from one of my men that our dear captain had a stroke after he filled out the shore leave form.”

“Wonderful!” Sagaru beams, and presses another kiss to his husband's lips. “I'll see you tonight.”

“See you,” Abuto murmurs happily before turning away, he and his umbrella disappearing into the day crowd.

From behind the bushes, Ikumatsu smiles, Katsura wipes away a stray tear, and Elizabeth breathes heavily as the happy couple part temporarily.

From behind the doors, Kondou noiselessly cries into his fists as he watches Yamazaki happily begin to much on the contents of his bento as he walks over to his station.

From the entrance, Okita demands a piece of fried shrimp, but Yamazaki quickens his pace and pretends like he doesn't hear him.

From the entrance of the second barrack, Hijikata puffs on his cigarette and scoffs at the idea of tying himself to someone forever, but then remembers a beautiful blonde woman who once tended to his wounds and loved him for everything he was and everything he could one day become.

From miles away, Otose smiles at a framed photograph of a blonde Yato and a thirty-two year old police inspector who can pass for twenty, happily married in matching wedding robes.

From one story above, Gintoki writes his first love letter to a certain wighead after twenty years of putting it off.

From one million stories above, the stake-out god grins and showers Kabukichou with more snow.

All ends well.

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yup, they got married! 〜(￣▽￣〜)
> 
> Thanks, y'all!


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